


Shine

by servecobwebheadaches



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sad, Seattle, Summer, suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 21:56:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7591834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servecobwebheadaches/pseuds/servecobwebheadaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sunny days are supposed to be better than the more common rainy ones, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shine

**Author's Note:**

> Is the medical stuff accurate? Probably not. Toying around with present tense writing to break habits. It's been pretty hot lately, and it made me think of writing this . . .

Brendon is ecstatic when they wake up. “Ryan, babe, we _have_ to go out,” he says.

It had been raining practically everyday for seven months straight in Seattle, and today, it isn't. He bounces out of bed, and Ryan groans before waking up, momentarily despising Brendon for making such a fuss. Although it’s late morning, nearing eleven thirty, Ryan could do with more sleep. But the sun, the fucking _sun_ is blaring right in his eyes, and—oh, that's why Brendon's excited.

Brendon takes him out to lunch, to a restaurant on the water. “We haven't had a date in forever,” Brendon claims, and he's right, even though they haven't spent a moment without each other in months.

They sit outside, and the sun is hot and bright. Too hot and bright. Ryan slips his typical scarf off and unbuttons his vest. Brendon whistles, raising an eyebrow. Ryan's simply irritated with the heat, and suddenly there are bugs buzzing around the straw of his iced tea. He swats at them, but only succeeds in smacking Brendon's hand as he reaches to take a sip of Ryan's drink. Brendon pouts in mock pain. “You're horrible,” he jokes, even as Ryan takes his hand and gently kisses his knuckles.

Underneath the irritation, Ryan's glad his boyfriend is sitting across from him, playfully teasing him and looking beautiful in the sunlight.

Brendon procrastinates their departure, not wanting to go back inside. When they do get home, Brendon only wants to sit on the balcony of their apartment, overlooking the Puget Sound.

There is no air conditioning, and neither of them had opened the windows before leaving that morning. The air is quite stifling, and the second Ryan closes the door, Brendon's pulling his shirt off and throwing it into their bedroom. “Beer?” Brendon offers, popping in the kitchen.

“Not right now, thanks,” Ryan says.

Brendon nods and grabs a bottle for himself out of the fridge. “I'm gonna sit outside, okay, love? You can come if you want,” Brendon says.

“I think I'm gonna try to find something cooler to wear,” Ryan answers. He's envying Brendon, who's in shorts, flip flops, and nothing else.

“Okay,” Brendon says, and rises up on his toes to kiss Ryan's lips. “I'll see you later, then.”

“Wait, wait, lover, you're gonna get sunburnt,” Ryan objects.

Brendon rolls his eyes. “I'll be fine. I don't burn, I tan. Beautifully,” he says, and Ryan can't help but laugh.

“I don't doubt that, B, but just in case . . .” Ryan circles his fingers around Brendon's wrist, tugging him into the bathroom to find sunscreen.

“Ryan,” Brendon whines, seeing the bottle, “I don't need it.”

Ryan opens it, anyway, and retaliates, “And I don't need you bitching that we can't have sex because you skin hurts to the touch from a sunburn.”

Brendon smiles at that. “Fair enough.”

“Good. Now come here.” He smooths the lotion on Brendon's skin himself, across his chest, stomach, back, and arms. Brendon tries to look at him the whole time, see what he's doing. Ryan kisses his jaw. “Okay, now go get that beautiful tan,” Ryan says.

Brendon touches Ryan's chest and says, “I will.” He picks up his beer and dashes outside.

It doesn't matter that Ryan opens the windows—the apartment stays thickly hot. He digs around the piles of clothes he has everywhere, to find something that isn't long-sleeved and isn't jeans. There isn't much for him to find, but he eventually does change into a pair of shorts. When he does, he goes onto the balcony to join Brendon.

Brendon lays back, feet up on a table, sunglasses covering his eyes. He seems completely relaxed, arms at his sides. His hair sticks to his forehead, slightly dampened with sweat. It’s no surprise; the boy is naturally warm, and he is sitting directly in the sun.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Ryan says, slipping his hands over Brendon's shoulders. Brendon's head lolls back into Ryan's touch, and his sunglasses slips farther down his nose.

“Hi,” Brendon replies.

Ryan plucks Brendon's sunglasses off his face, since they don't look too comfortable on his nose, and sees Brendon's eyelids drooping. “How's the view?” Ryan asks, looking out at the water.

“Amazing.” His voice is slower than normal, and the smile on his face spreads languidly when Ryan kisses his neck.

“Someone’s sleepy,” Ryan murmurs.

Brendon exhales heavily. “It's just so warm,” Brendon says. He shifts, and Ryan notices deep lines in his back from the wooden chair digging into his skin.

“Why don't you go to bed, my love? You can sleep more comfortably there.”

“Okay,” Brendon nods. Ryan takes his hand, helping him up. His blinks are slow, drowsy with the summer heat, but he stumbles inside without Ryan's help. Ryan watches their bedroom door shut, and he sinks down into the chair Brendon had occupied seconds before.

Brendon's beer rests on the ground, and Ryan picks it up to take a swig. He gags slightly, the liquid having gone warm. The bottle is still mostly full, which Ryan finds odd. Brendon usually would have had three emptied by now, but Ryan writes it off as nothing, between their breathtaking view and Brendon's tiredness.

Ryan gets a fresh beer for himself, and sits back outside. The day truly is perfect, but Ryan wishes he could reach over and hold Brendon's hand, or have Brendon curled up at his side, half in his lap. He could go back inside, and crawl in bed with him, but he doesn't necessarily feel like getting up. He doesn't want to disturb Brendon, either.

Time passes, and the only indicator to Ryan is the sun beginning to set over the water. The glare is hitting him in the face, not even Brendon's sunglasses helping to block it. With that, he wanders back inside.

He eats the leftovers from lunch earlier that day, and considers waking Brendon up for dinner. He decides against it. Brendon needs the sleep, anyway. Even though they sleep in late most of the time, Brendon likes to stay awake until three or four in the morning. He could use a relaxing day of just sleeping.

Alone, Ryan watches TV for a couple hours, keeping the volume down for Brendon. It's dark outside, now, and cool air is coming in the apartment. Ryan closes the windows, yet it feels hot again within a few moments. He leaves them shut; the warmth won't bother them as much as the cold in the middle of the night.

He's feeling tired himself, so he enters the bedroom, as quietly as he can. Brendon's in bed, very much asleep, with all the blankets on the bed wrapped around him. This concerns Ryan, just a bit, due to it being so warm in the room. It wasn't unlike Brendon to steal all the covers, though, so Ryan brushes it off for the time being.

He gets ready for bed, wearing almost nothing to keep himself cool in the night. With that done, he climbs on the bed, and nudges Brendon's back. “B,” he whispers, hoping to get a blanket from him. “Brendon.” He shakes Brendon's shoulder, enough that he should wake up from it, but Ryan still doesn't get a response.

That's really weird.

“Brendon?” Ryan says, louder. He turns on a light, shining from the ceiling right down on the bed. Ryan's heart pounds slightly, and he pushes on Brendon's shoulder to roll him into his back. “Brendon,” he repeats, but it makes no impact. Brendon is limp under Ryan's touch, and Ryan's breath hitches as he notices the boy is wearing a long sleeved shirt. It's far too hot for that, and Ryan just knows that something is wrong.

He throws the blankets off Brendon's body, quickly, and Brendon's eyelids don't do as much as even flutter. The chest of Brendon's shirt is soaked through with sweat, but Ryan can't help but notice how the area isn't moving, not contracting or rising with breaths.

Now frantic, Ryan's fingers find their way to Brendon's torso, feeling desperately for Brendon to be breathing. No such thing is happening, not even the tiniest movement. Ryan's eyes widen, and he scrambles for his phone, calling 911 before he can register anything else.

He's answered with something about an emergency, which he can't grasp onto at the moment, and chokes out, “My boyfriend isn't breathing, send help, please, right now—”

“Okay, can you find a pulse anywhere?” Ryan thinks the person on the other end says. Ryan grabs for Brendon's wrists, and when he can't find a heartbeat, he has both hands on Brendon's chest.

There's nothing there.

Ryan believes he mumbles those words into the phone before he's pulling Brendon into his arms. Ryan's trembling, as Brendon's not moving, not breathing, his eyes aren't opening. He cradles Brendon's head, stammering out their address, somehow, before the phone falls from his fingertips.

Brendon's skull rests in Ryan's lap, and Ryan has one hand on Brendon's chest, over where his heart should be beating strongly, and the other stroking through Brendon's hair. “No, no, no,” Ryan whispers. “No, Brendon, no, my love.” Ryan's eyes are rapidly filling with tears, because Brendon's dying, Brendon's not breathing—

There's a pounding on the door, and then it's open, and then people are rushing in, and Brendon's getting taken away from him, out of his arms. Ryan follows him, as if in a trance, keeping a close eye on the people carrying his boy on a stretcher, keeping a close eye on the sleep-tousled tufts of dark hair he knows so well. His poor Brendon . . .

His heart keeps twisting, and it hurts to think about what's happening. So he doesn't. He feels as if it's not real, and it drifts away whenever he gets to see Brendon's face. As long as that's in his sight, he's making it through the chaos.

He's somewhere in a hospital when he hears the words, “ . . . unable to be revived . . .” amongst the midst of terms being thrown around.

“What?” Ryan demands. “What does that mean?”

“It means he's not going to wake up.”

Ryan loses it.

He blames himself, later, for having Brendon torn away from him so quickly. Gone. Just like that. If he had only checked on Brendon, throughout the day, made sure he was taking care of himself, Brendon would be at his side with a smile on his face. He would've been able to tell the heatstroke was setting in before it was too late. He could've saved Brendon, saved him. But he didn't.

Every morning, before he opens his eyes, he hopes with every fiber of his being that Brendon's going to be giddy and bubbly about the sun, about the summer heat. He's never there. Ryan's never happy.

He doesn't go out in the summer. It's too hot. It's too much of a reminder, of a kick in the stomach.

The rain is better, Ryan learns.


End file.
